


if you have a taste of silver, pennies won't do

by callmearcturus



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Atlas CEO Rhys, M/M, Setting Typical Violence and Death, Sex Contracts Fix Everything Right?, ill-advised liaisons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: There are a lot of good reasons why Rhys will not sleep with Handsome Jack. He even makes a list.Sending the list to Jack is his first mistake, but by no means his last.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I know. I'm writing Borderlands again. It's like...... my comfort fandom, it's the best. I've missed these characters, lemme tell you.
> 
> This shares some setting elements with my old unfinished fic, _repetoire_ , including Rhys' backstory and the existence of Elbie/Loader Bot. Think of it as a spiritual successor, I guess.

Handsome Jack gets back to Helios late, according to the universal clock that keeps the gears within gears of the space station spinning. He left Pandora at midday, though that's just as arbitrary as Helios' clock; what kind of shithole planet has a 90 hour rotation cycle?

He's still fairly wired as he steps off his shuttle, so he walks to his office instead of his penthouse. There's no point throwing out good midnight oil.

When he sits at his desk, there is a log of messages waiting for him. He has had at least ten messages pending since he took this office as his own, so that's normal. He taps a function key, and the messages reorder themselves according his personal algorithm, picking out keywords and pertinent names, slotting around until the shit he might actually want to read is at the top.

Tonight, the lucky winner is…

A message from the Atlas Planetary Director -- Pandora. Or, as Jack has manually renamed him in the mailing system, Legs.

Sometimes Jack needs help remembering names. Focusing on people's _distinctive_ features helps.

The message is dated from just an hour ago, when Jack was still in transit. What the hell was so important that he forgot to tell Jack when they were still in meeting?

Jack pulls up the message, leaning chin on his hand, face too close to the screen.

The subject line is a staid and impersonal _Follow up to our meeting, 24 Nov._ The message is blank, with just an attachment called _Proposal Analysis - 24 Nov.echotxt_.

Letting out a confused grunt, Jack clicks the file open.

_Itemized List Of Reasons Why We're Not Going To Sleep Together Jack_

_(compiled because you seem to be having trouble with this)_

Jack cackles, sitting back in his chair. Oh, so _that's_ what was so damn important that it couldn't wait until their next meeting or ECHOcast, huh? Hell, it couldn't even wait until the Atlas end of day, apparently. Unless it was sent from his personal computer.

For two seconds, Jack nearly sidetracks himself, digging into the digital trail to try to figure out where the message originated. He's _curious_ , because this is the dance he's doing with the new Atlassian Director. They've been doing it for years, really. It's a tug of rope with him, except the rope is like razor wire, and it's got an electrical current zipping through it, and the game is seeing which of them gives slack.

It can wait. He starts reading the list.

  1. __You tried to kill me the first time we met.__



Jack rolls his eyes and scoffs. Now that? That is some revisionist history.

  
  
  


Let's start there. Three years ago.

  
  
  


Rhys meets the CEO of Hyperion on a frozen day off the Southern Shelf when his little laser gunboat beaches itself on the shore out of nowhere.

At the time, he's the Assistant Facility Director for the New Haven Outpost up in the Highlands. It's a fairly prestigious position, though Rhys has long since gotten over the appeal of being second in command to anyone. His boss is back at the facility overseeing the construction expansion while Rhys is out in the cold, overseeing the collection of glacial ice.

He's been on this ship for three days, and he keeps getting stuck to his own metal arm. It's annoying and embarrassing, and watching his underlings collect ice is about as interesting as watching said ice melt.

The moment when the ship's power abruptly goes off would be a refreshing, interesting change of pace. Except Rhys shrieks at the sudden darkness and the way everything around him, _everything_ , goes silent.

The boat is dead. The laser cutters' constant din of electric sound is gone. And, just for bonus, Rhys' arm slumps uselessly against his side and he goes blind in one eye.

Okay, that's an EMP. What the hell?

Rhys leaves his cabin and comes to the top deck; it's a brilliantly starry night with a crystalline sky overhead. A few of the laser engineers are working at the consoles, trying to bring them back to life, but in the moment, the only illumination is Elpis overhead, and Helios in its path. The ice around them, the dark water, the gleaming metal railings of the ship are all shot through with violet light and spots of white-blue.

"Anyone see what--" Rhys begins to ask the crew, only to be jerked to a stop as the ship moves under him. The engines are still dead, but the entire vessel begins to drag through the water, away from the glacier and its half-finished gouges. Everyone on their feet is taken down, yelling and slamming into the deck or grabbing onto whatever they can.

Rhys gets his working arm around an antenna pole, his heels sliding against the ocean-slick floor as he struggles to keep upright.

Looking up, he can see the pole itself begin to bend, folding into a worrying curve, pointing in the same direction the ship is being hauled.

That's not good, he thinks, numb with shock and cold as the frosty white shoreline begins to come into view. There, on the horizon, are lights. After a few more minutes of lopsided strange movement, Rhys can see even without his ECHOeye that some of the trucks are slapped with Hyperion yellow.

He would love to get a hand free to reboot his cybernetics to avoid going into this blind (ha) but if he loosens his grip, he's pretty sure he's going to slide right off the deck and into the ocean, and he'll never usurp the Facility Director if he's dead. But also: what the hell does Hyperion want?

When the boat is finally pulled from the ocean, he can see what the hell is going on. Attached to the back of a tanker-sized truck is a magnetic disk that thankfully turns off once the ship is solidly beached out of the water.

It's there, sitting in the snow with his ankles and wrists bound together, that Rhys meets Handsome Jack.

"Right, so which of you is running this illicit little expedition?" There are thick leather shitkicking boots on the man's feet as he stalks up and down the line of Atlas captives. "Anyone here human, 'cause you all look like a bunch of wet bullymong skins, it's a nightmare."

Rhys steels himself for three seconds before lifting his hands. With the continued dead weight of his arm, it makes his shoulder twinge, but he manages to push the fur-lined hood off his head. "Hi," Rhys manages, the word coming out in a plume of cold air in front of him. "Illicit how?"

Handsome Jack clicks a finger and points, and Rhys finds himself hauled to his feet by a fully outfitted Hyperion guard. Once he's eye level, Jack leans in to look him over. "Hi? Hi, that's what you have to say for yourself and your bandit crew and your friggin' _lasers_?" Personal space doesn't seem to occur to Jack as he squints right into Rhys' eyes. A smirk overtakes his glower. "Batteries running low, there? That's a fancy kit for a scav."

Rhys is probably not going to get that office at the top of the Haven facility after Handsome Jack leaves him dead in the snow, so he blows out another smoky breath into Jack's face, gratified when the man straightens and backs up a bit. "Not a scav. Rhys Sommerset, Atlas. We're just collecting ice for our facility."

"Ice," Handsome Jack echos. "Ice, Atlas is collecting ice. Putting aside the fact that, yanno, Atlas doing _anything_ except being a sob story for stockholders is rich-- ha! Rich. Oh, I made a double joke, that's great." He slaps his knee with a guffaw, then snaps back to staring at Rhys. "What the hell does Atlas want with _ice?_ Frozen water's a long way down from gunmetal and computational AI."

 _Plans._ Rhys squares his shoulders. Or, shoulder. "Ice is useful, what's wrong with it? And what about it is worth--" He nods to the scene Hyperion's set up around them. "This?"

"Scav boat with industrial mining lasers, kind of a curiosity. Dodging the question. What's in the ice? Or did Atlas locate the Vault of the Gin And Tonic?"

"Frozen water, and natural impurities." Jack narrows his eyes at Rhys' flippancy. "Hyperion, we ran the numbers and found it more economical to transport large quantities of ice rather than freeze it up on premise. Though, now that we have to add the cost of a boat to the collation--"

Waving a dismissive hand, Handsome Jack lets out a terse sound. "We can push it right back out, cool your heels, kiddo." His hands settle on his hips as he continues to eye Rhys.

Rhys does his best to meet his gaze and not wilt under it.

Jack grins. "Atlas, huh." His expression turns appraising as he blinks and seems to _look_ at Rhys like he's a person, a different flavor of regard from seconds ago. "How's that working for you, _Rhys Sommerset, Atlas?"_

It could be better, considering he can't feel his toes, his bodyguard bot is probably sitting inert in his cabin, and this job sucks.

Instead, he tries to smile through his chattering teeth. "You'll probably see soon enough. Now…" He pauses significantly, waiting.

Jack sighs explosively. "Yeah, alright. You can go back to your totally not fucking suspicious ice collection. Just remember," and here he points upward, at the sky, at the sentinel above. "I've got my eye on you."

  
  
  


That ends up being true.

  
  
  


Jack clears out the most important, time-sensitive items from his list before taking a break for a whiskey, neat in a perfect cut crystal glass, the rim painted with gold. He takes the first sip by the window, looking down at Elpis.

Frowning, he taps his fingers against the window, pulling up the inlaid UI that lives in the glass. It lights up merrily for him, mirroring his computer's view for him to glare at.

Pressing the index and ring fingers of his left hand to the glass, the entire window ignites with a new view. Elpis is covered with a projected view of Pandora instead. The colors aren't quite right, given the scale of the illumination being pumped into the glass, but now it's as if Jack's office was overlooking the planet instead.

He squints down through the dusty cloud cover that's habitual to Pandora, then swipes the _Proposal Analysis_ over so he can stare at it.

Then, plugs in the ECHO frequency for Rhys and calls him.

The line is a low hum of the call attempting to connect before it clicks, and lets out a low steady beeping. The busy signal goes on for a solid thirty seconds before the call is accepted.

Another click, definitive and crisp, and the line goes dead.

Jack rolls his eyes and dials again, going through the entire process a second time. This time, the busy signal lingers, droning on for over three minutes.

Eventually, the call connects, and Jack beams at the little window that appears on his glass-monitor. It's dark, nearly too dark to see anything, but the ECHO device illuminates the vague shape of someone moving.

Rhys sits heavily in a chair in front of the screen, in a black robe. His silver arm is off and his hair is out of its perfect coif. "This is a private frequency, jackass."

"I want to talk about the list."

"No," Rhys says, voice rough. He rubs his face, dragging two fingers against his glowing eye with a wince. "I just got done hosting you for an entire afternoon. I'm done. We'll meet up about the expansion thing next week."

"Who cares about the expansion thing?"

"Uh, _you_ do, do you not remember this conversation?"

"That was six hours ago," Jack reminds Rhys, starting to pace in front of the window. "Keep up, buttercup, I'm onto the next thing. Namely: list."

"It's also sleeping hours down here, Jack."

"Yeah, I can see that." He leers at the poorly lit video. "This is not doing a lot to convince we shouldn't have sex, Rhysie."

"Fuck off," Rhys grumbles. "We shouldn't. Why is that so hard to understand?"

"Uh, because it'd be _amazing?_ " Jack waves his hands at Rhys's image. "Look at you. Q.E.D., right there, damn."

"Thanks, because I feel _real_ reassured now. I already knew you-- uh." Rhys flaps his hand, like shooing the thought away. "Your, uh, opinion… of… whatever you want to call it."

Jack puts his hands on his hips. It makes his shoulders look good, and Rhys is blinking blurrily at him. "You layability."

Rhys manages to wake up enough to narrow his eyes at Jack. "I'm going to bed. Do not call me again."

"Number two! _You're too prone to violence!"_ Jack snaps. "Hilarious and cute, bitching about me being-- pfft, _violent_! You like that, princess! Sure was useful before, wasn't it?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Rhys mutters.

  
  
  


He's lying.

This is what Jack's talking about.

  
  
  


The atmosphere in the room is nearly suffocating. When Rhys and his boss arrived on Helios to _massage the situation_ , their welcoming committee was a host of armed guards. The conference room they've been locked in is nice, but it's also huge, oversized with just the two of them sitting together, waiting.

Rhys blinks his clock HUD up. "Thirty-eight minutes," he reports quietly.

At his side, the Planetary Director of Pandora, Vannerty purses his lips. "That's not helpful, AP-D."

It's such a stupid nickname, it takes most of Rhys' willpower to keep his expression blank. "I'm simply trying to keep you apprised--"

"You know what would really _assist_ me, Assistant Director?" Vannerty's voice is sour, like wine going to vinegar. He looks drawn, his gauntness heightened by the unforgiving lights in the room and the way he leans forward on the table with both arms. "If you would be silent as a grave and resist making more _trouble_ for me."

Interesting phrasing, Rhys thinks, but keeps his own council.

As he waits, he opens his ECHO display on his palm, letting the clock widget overtake the entire screen.

Vannerty's eyes are drawn to the amber glow, and he fixes Rhys with a look like an incendiary charge.

Rhys puts the display away and rests his head back against the chair.

At fifty-two minutes, the door slides open. The only entrant to the room is Handsome Jack, walking to stand opposite Vannerty. The tails of his… long shirt thing, they're brushed back as he rests his hands on his hips.

Hm. He has really broad shoulders. Rhys hadn't noticed until now.

"So. How ya doin'? Atlas. Other Atlas," he greets in a dry voice. "I hear some _Atlas-brand apologies_ are comin' my way. Wanna explain what the hell happened down on hellmurder planet this time?"

Vannerty nods with a solemnity borne from delivering way too many Below Projected Growth reports to the board, and moves to stand.

The way Jack moves, lifting his arm, fingers curled and knuckles up, is immediate and startling enough to make Vannerty stop halfway out of his chair. Rhys blinks, letting his eye drag over Jack's arm.

There, near his elbow, is a digistructor, small as a dollar coin and fastened into his sleeves. Rhys has no idea what it makes, but the way Jack is holding himself gives him a decent idea.

"From there's good enough, Other Atlas. Don't stretch your legs or anything. Just there."

Vannerty seems puzzled, but similarly aware he is in danger. He stands there, moving no further, and inclines his head to Handsome Jack with impressively feigned respect. "President Jack. Two days ago, out in the Pandoran Highlands--"

"Oh, you really should call me Handsome Jack if you're gonna be doing this, old man," Jack says with a quiver of tension.

Given his deep and passionate love of precise titles and their associated abbreviations, the scowl that manages to worm its way onto Vannerty's face is unsurprising. Rhys taps his fist against his mouth, hiding his smile at his boss's annoyance. "Handsome… Jack," Vannerty begins again. "Two days ago, out in the Pandoran Highlands, Atlas was in the process of expanding the local rail line through a mountain. We have been focusing heavily on infrastructure, as you may or may not be aware."

"Tch, is that a… that a joke?" Handsome Jack stares narrowly at Vannerty. "You think Atlas so much as buys fucking groceries without the details crossing my desk?"

"Such would be impossible, at least until aforementioned infrastructure is built up to facilitate--"

"Ho ho hooooh my god, you are so fucking bad at this." Handsome Jack lifts his arm again, pointing it like before. "I got thirteen corpses in Hyperion colors rotting in the sun down there, maybe jump to that part."

Vannerty glances askance at Rhys.

Rhys has no plans to say anything. Not yet.

"If you are looking for the abbreviated version of the sorry tale, drilling for the AREP-- that is, Atlas Railway Expansion Project-- dislodged loose rocks near the site of your team." Vannerty coughs delicately into his fist. "The HHWOT, I believe the proper moniker would be."

Handsome Jack takes one step forward. "You _mocking_ my team?"

"No. No no, moniker, not--" He jerks his head to look at Rhys again, eyes vicious. When Rhys just stares back, he takes a deep breath and stares down Jack again. "The rockslide killed the Hyperion observation team. This was obviously not our intention in our efforts to build."

"So to sum up, you overreached and killed my guys," Jack says, grin flinty and mean.

"The APB-- that is, Atlas Pandora Branch-- is very sorry for their loss." Vannerty folds his hands in front of himself. "There's nothing we can do but assure you this will not happen again."

Rhys taps his metal fingers against the table and lifts his eyebrows. Handsome Jack catches his expression, but says nothing. But that's all fine and dandy, since Rhys just wanted Jack to _see_.

"You know," Jack says slowly. "Given the reputation you people foster about how top notch all your products are, I'm disappointed. This apology you slapped together sucks." He waves his non-pointing arm to the side. "Hell, even your shiny little shadow doesn't seem impressed. You impressed, kiddo?"

Rhys ducks his head, shrugging. "I mean. If we'd gone through the proper channels, your team might've gotten heads up. Could've saved a lot of money and manpower."

"Assistant Director, you have done enough here already," Vannerty hisses, nearly spitting with rage.

"Nah, actually." The digistructor on Jack's arm illuminates, and a bracer forms on his arm, wrapped snugly around his forearm. As it creates itself from the blue particles, the barrel of a gun is already aimed at Vannerty. "I think you've done enough, asshole."

The splatter of blood and viscera registers before the gunshot, making Rhys jerk away, covering his face where red has sprayed on him. He knocks his chair over in his haste to move away, the chair toppling to the ground at about the same time as Vannerty's body wetly impacts the ground.

Eurgh. That happened faster than Rhys expected. Yanking a handkerchief from his pocket, he shakes it out and dabs at the warm flecks he can feel on his skin.

Handsome Jack's gun bracer is still fixed in place, and his eyes slide to Rhys next.

"Okay." Despite everything, Rhys hears the tremor in his own voice. There's a difference between knowing something is going to happen and having it _happen_ right at his side. "Right." He straightens, and steps away from the pooling blood before it can reach his shoes. "As the _new_ acting Planetary Director, I want to _properly_ apologize for our tremendous screw-up."

The blood is coming out of Vannerty pretty fast. Rhys takes another step out of the way.

"Normally, I wouldn't have the authority to tell you this, but the Atlas succession bylaws are pretty clear. So, we have a Weregild Policy in place, a fund meant to pay out to compensate for the loss of employees," Rhys says, and watches the way Handsome Jack lifts an eyebrow at him. "It's meant to pay for the loss of Atlas employees, but this time we can make an exception, I think."

"Uh huh," Jack says slowly. "Say, what was your name again?"

"Rhys Sommerset." He pulls up the relevant forms on his palm projector, looking at them. "When I return to the facility, I'll put through the signatures and wire you the accumulated funds to…" He shrugs. "Handle."

"Handle," Jack echoes.

"Distribute to the families of the deceased as you see fit," he explains. Now, his voice doesn't so much as shiver; he practiced this to Elbie before coming, just to be sure. "I'll leave it up to you, Handsome Jack."

The bracer on his arm fizzles into nothingness, and Jack waves the lingering particles away with one hand. "Right, right right right. So just between us, are you paying me for the poor labcoats that got crushed under rock, or the bounty for killing your boss for you?"

That… makes Rhys stop and stare up at Jack, his face naked for a moment with surprise before he can think to cover it up. "Uh, what? Ha, sorry?"

Jack puts his hands on his hips again, and a smirk begins to unfurl on his mouth. "You heard me. Had that little recompense all set up, didn't you? Prob had the documents minimized and ready to roll since before you set foot up here on my station." His grin twists into something closer to a sneer. "Don't goggle at me, kid, I'm not an idiot."

No, he's really not. But he put his gun away, so Rhys thinks he's safe. Or, as safe as anyone can be in a room with this volatile man.

Volatile, but kind of predictable in a weird way.

Stepping over Vannerty and circling the table, Rhys says, "I don't know what you're talking about. Just trying to make things right."

"Gotta say, didn't take you for that kind of scumbag. Maybe 'cause the fancy threads. Maybe 'cause you're _Atlas_ , and most of you don't have the stomach for something like that. Tell me, did you set up the entire screw-up, or just figured out how to benefit from it after it happened?"

Rhys shakes his head, and opens his mouth to deliver another demur.

"Relax, _Rhysie_ ," Jack says. "Not going to rat you out. I'm impressed." And he sounds it, low and pleased in a way that gets Rhys right up his spine, like the way a cat's back arches when they're pet. His hands clench as Jack carries on: "Never been used as an accessory to murder before. Pretty dope, now that I think about it." He steps closer to Rhys, positioning himself in front of the door. "How's that bylaw work, by the way? They gonna select a replacement for dead guy here," he jerks his head towards Vannerty, "or…?"

His breath is a little tight in his chest. "Sorry, not really at liberty to discuss the bylaws with non-Atlas employees."

"But I'm gonna be seeing more of you around now, aren't I?" He steps in again, until they're toe to toe, and Rhys can smell the ozone flourish around him, the scent that always accompanies digistruction.

"Yeah," Rhys admits. "You will."

"Good," Jack practically growls. Giving Rhys a slap on the arm, he backs off at last. "Lookin' forward to it. That said, kill your own boss next time. Don't weasel your way out of such a significant rite of passage, 'kay?"

With that, Jack winks at him, and heel-pivots to leave the room.

For some fucking reason, Rhys is an idiot and blurts out, "They're not rotting in the sun."

There is a solid _tap_ as Jack's foot comes down midstep. He doesn't turn back, just twists at the waist until he can get one green eye on Rhys.

"They've all been buried. It seemed obvious if something wasn't done… the stalkers would have…" Rhys shrugs one shoulder and runs his fingers through his hair anxiously. "I can get you coordinates, but they're all taken care of."

The long lingering stare from Jack is more baffling than anything. Why did he say anything, he could've just let Jack leave and been done here.

But it felt important to say that. To let Jack know.

Which is dumb, given what Rhys knows about Hyperion company culture but--

"You know," Jack says quietly. "You're a weird one, princess."

Blinking in surprise, Rhys's mouth pulls down into a moue of annoyance, but that seems to finally be the end of it.

Jack departs, and Rhys is left alone to stew over that alone in the conference room. Leaning back on the table, it sort of belatedly hits him how lucky he is all that worked. One piece of that plan going awry, and it could be him in a puddle of his own blood on the floor. Or worse, fired.

But it had worked. It probably wouldn't again.

Gathering himself, Rhys leaves, headed for the shuttle bay. This time, there's no armed guard.

  
  
  
  


Jack is not one to arrive to any meeting early. It's bad form for him, and giving anyone the impression he cares about their precious timetables or schedules is unthinkable. As far as he is concerned, he will show up when he wants, and the universe will thank him for being there. As a great mad prophet once said, His presence was a present.

Still, Rhys arrives to all their meetings early, so Jack bites the fucking corrosive bullet and heads down to Pandora two hours in advance. He's skipping out on important shit up on Helios probably but again: who cares.

The landing pad at Old Haven isn't staffed when Jack arrives. Apparently no one was expecting him yet. He's already got feet on solid ground when a harried-looking attendant in Atlas regulation colors jogs up to him, winded.

Jack steps cleanly around them, bringing up one hand to push them bodily out of his way. "Been here before, don't need the chaperone, bye."

To their credit, the attendant lets him go, though Jack hears them radio in immediately. It's a slight annoyance; he'd _like_ to surprise Rhys, but it's fricken impossible these days.

So it's not nearly as satisfying as he hopes when he stalks into the meeting room they use for these little chats. As usual, Rhys is there early. As usual, he doesn't look up when Jack walks in, eyes focused on whatever is so fascinating on his palm display.

As usual, there's a robot standing guard between him and Rhys. It's a tall brute, it's skeleton just vaguely recognizable as an early Hyperion loader. The memory is there in the lopsided top-heavy shape, thought it's been modified heavily, slimmed down to be less of a teeter-tottering goliath.

It swivels at the hip joint to fix its orange aperture on Jack. "You are early."

"Pre-game show, pal, and you're not invited," Jack tells it jovially. Hooking his thumb over his shoulder, towards the door, he whistles. "Now shoo."

"You are not the boss of me," the robot says.

"Rhysie, kick your stolen loader out of here," Jack says, turning his attention to the man still studiously ignoring him.

"That would be unwise." The robot turns to Rhys too, and somehow there is judgement clear in its posture. Which is some feat given the limited range of articulation there.

Rhys shakes his head minutely, still looking at his palm as he says, "Working with Jack at all is unwise. Don't worry about it."

"Someone in this facility needs to commit sufficient resources to worrying."

"This is going from being flattering to being a pain in the ass," Jack says. "Rhys."

"Fine," Rhys sighs, closing his palm. "Elbie, could I get a latte from the cafe?"

The robot fumes in its own silent mechanical way. "The usual I presume."

"Yeah."

"Affirmative." It pivots back around and begins to stomp out of the room. Getting out of its way is difficult given how narrow this room is, but Jack manages to avoid that by sitting on the edge of the conference table near Rhys.

When the door swishes shut behind the robot, Jack relaxes. Just a smidge. "Can we skip babysitter bot sometime? I think you're a big boy now."

"That was almost complimentary," Rhys says. "What do you want? Doubt you're here to argue over land rights for two more hours than we're supposed to."

"No, we can leave that block where it is, don't wanna upend your precious organization."

Rhys rolls his eyes and twirls his silver wrist in a _go on_.

"Back to the list," Jack says, and watches Rhys sink back in his chair, his hands covering his face. "What the fuck does the next one mean? _Our goals are counter to each other_ , what goals? Money? Because I think we're preeeeetty solidly aligned there."

Muffled by his hands, Rhys manages, "Are you going to go down every item on the list?"

"Tch, _yeah_ , obviously."

  
  
  
  


Rhys is of two minds about Pandora.

On one hand, he'd been living there for most of his professional life. DAHL had needed a lot of freelancers to build up the ECHO network across the planet, connecting and troubleshooting and creating a decent infrastructure. Rhys has handled mostly the backend, coaxing the various expansions of the network to work together neatly, masking the fact it was really more like 50 networks webbed together with duct tape.

But DAHL-- well. Screw them. They yanked most of their important resources off planet and just abandoned everything else. Including people like Rhys.

When Atlas was trying to resuscitate the corpse of its former self, having an expert in the ECHO network was a no-brainer. So, wiggling his way into the hierarchy there was easy.

By now, Rhys has so much time spent with his feet on the ground that Pandora seems almost less egregiously awful and dangerous. He's already survived this long, so sticking it out is almost a point of pride.

On the other hand, this planet didn't care if you'd clawed your way up through the ranks. It didn't _care_ that you already did all this shit with the threshers and bandits and infrequent resupplies.

Rhys feels like once he survived an impossible situation, some angel from on high atop the thing should, like, come down and iron a patch to his Pandora Scout sash. The _Survived A Blizzard Huddled In a Dead Car Outside A Bullymong Camp_ badge. The _Killed a Rakk Hive Before It Tore Apart Too Much Of The Facility_ badge. The _Survived Bandit Ransom_ badge. Once he managed to make it through hell once, that particular hell should just…. acknowledge that and leave him the hell alone. Go punch someone else's card.

This isn't how Pandora works, though, much to Rhys' dismay.

In his first months as the Planetary Director of Pandora, he visits several of the off-site projects that Atlas is working on. The vault search is still hot and heavy, of course, but if they want to avoid going under _again_ , they have to expand. Put in the work. Fewer rangers, more civil engineers.

One of the projects is still that damn rail line. The crap DAHL set up on Pandora is dying from lack of upkeep, but it's all they have. So, setting up teams to do maintenance and bring everything up to date is one of the priority tasks for Rhys.

That's fine. It's great. It'll help immensely when everything is said and done.

What's less great is bandits swooping in on the Tundra Express and taking everyone hostage.

Worse, the bandits manage to pick Rhys out of the group as important. Apparently the glowing buttons on his new jacket were overkill, and as good as a target on his back.

So he's tied up and kept locked in a train compartment while the bandit leader fucks with the ECHO comms.

"ATLAS!" The bandit leader is some lady named Dragonbreath. She has incendiary gear strapped to her hips and her back, as well as an industrial torch strapped to her arm. As she saunters around the train, the smell of bonfires follows her. "Your attempts to take this land from us have failed. Atlas! If you want to see your…. your…" She clicks off the comm and looks at Rhys. "What're you again?"

Rhys stares balefully at her and says nothing.

"Ugh, whatever." She flicks the comm back on with her thumb. "LISTEN UP. I have your well-heeled orange boy over my firepit. Bring us ten million dollars in open containers or he'll be sent to the Firehawk's embrace!"

She stares at the comm, at its dead air, and whirls on one of her underlings. "Is this fuckin' thing broadcasting to Atlas or what?"

Said underling looks more familiar with explosions than the ECHO network, given his lack of fingers. The steel prosthetic thumb is pretty neat, though, and Rhys admires that. Regardless, he bows his head under the attention of his leader. "Y-yeah, it's going out on all bands! They'll have to hear it!"

"All bands?" Rhys asks before he can shut his mouth.

Dragonbreath's boots jangle with a long chain of grenade rings as she turns. "Problem, prettyboy?"

Oh yeah. All-bands broadcasts are bad news for plenty of reasons. He bites his lip and tugs his legs up under him, sighing at the way the tape around his ankles pulls at his slacks.

There are eyes on Atlas. Rhys keeps silent as the idiot bandits periodically rebroadcast their demands.

As the hours slide by without any response, his captors get increasingly agitated.

"Maybe we can cut off his hand," Dragonbreath suggests, rubbing her chin. "Send it to Atlas."

Underling Guy shrugs. "Don't really feel like taking the only hand a fellow's got," he murmurs softly, flexing his own flesh-and-metal fingers.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

"S'fine, DB. But either way, the cost of a courier would probably _be_ about ten million dollars, so."

She snorts. "Maybe we can tack it onto the price tag? Like, whatsit. Lawyer fees?"

"Listen," Rhys says quietly, having thought over this about twenty times now. "No one's coming. Maybe your broadcast didn't reach far enough? But like…" He shrugs his shoulders as much as his bindings allow. "This is some unsolicited advice, I know, but I _wouldn't_ kill me?"

"Why not? I'm real into that part of the job," Dragonbreath says. "Like, I'm super good at it."

"No no, I know," Rhys hurriedly says. "I'm not saying you're not. Please, part of my job is talent hunting, and I know a professional when I see one."

"Aw," she simpers. "Buttering me up?"

"Stating facts. You guys don't seem the, uh…." He clears his throat. "Take this in the spirit its meant, but you don't seem the rape and pillage types to me? Is that accurate?"

The leader seesaws her hand. "Eeeeh. I mean, I'm in my forties now. You kind of get over that part of your life. You know, when DAHL shipped me here with the other prisoners, my rap sheet was like…." She sighs. "I stole a car. Okay, five cars. Mostly joyriding. And I wound up here!"

"That sucks," Rhys agrees sympathetically. "Hey, you adapted well! Look at you now."

"Flatterer. But yeah, our little outfit is mostly into fire and accumulating wealth. As an Atlas war monkey, I'm sure you understand."

"I do. Which is kind of my point? See, you could kill me but… it's sounding a lot like no one got your transmission, so you could also just… let me go. And that's totally in your own interests too!"

She taps her big scary firestick against her thigh. "How so?"

"I'm head of Atlas on Pandora, okay? My second in command, he's full blown former Crimson Military, more concerned with like… _taming Pandora_ than anything else." When Dragonbreath rolls her eyes, Rhys nods. "Yeah, I know right? He's an offworlder, so he doesn't get it. Anyway, me? I'm former DAHL too."

She narrows her eyes at him, and Rhys feels this tenuous connection slipping his grip.

"Okay, I was freelance technician, but! They left my ass on this dustball too! So…" He sighs. "I'm trying to update the rail line."

"For Atlas," she points out.

"Yes, but we're going to implement a civilian rate system too! Infrastructure! It's…" He deflates, sighing. "I'm just saying. You get more from not killing me than killing me. That's my proposal." He flicks his eyes to her underling. "And by the time I'm done here? You're not gonna have ECHO network issues, I promise you that. I'm fixing that too."

"Well, aren't you important," Dragonbreath mutters, still tapping her fire stick against her thigh, rhythm fast. "You're talkin' me up. Probably going to hunt my troupe down as soon as you're back in your cozy digs and exact revenge."

"Yeah, I'll just look up _Dragonbreath_ in the frequency registry and come after you," Rhys says.

She smiles, and it's not nearly as scary as Rhys was expecting. He's thinking he might talk his way out of this? Holy shit.

Then, there's a very familiar noise. The ground shakes with a rocking impact as a whip-slam sound breaks the air. It comes again, and again, until the train is teetering on its shitty old rail, and Rhys falls onto his side.

"Moonshots?" The underling squawks. "What the-- why are there--"

Rhys knows. That _jackass_. Shoving his elbow at the ground, he forces himself back to an upright position. "You have to run, seriously, get out. Forget all this, just run for it."

"Do not tell me what to do, Atlas," Dragonbreath hisses at him, her eyes wild. His fingers close around her torch.

" _Listen to me._ You need to run. I can tell the difference between bandits and people trying to make a really dishonest buck, but _Handsome Jack_ can't. He'll kill you. He will not even blink. So _go!"_ Rhys yells, eyes darting around. His ECHOeye HUD is keeping count of the impacts and their relative location. It's not good.

"DB," the underling whines, already hitching their pack onto their back.

The ECHOeye spits more info at him. "They're coming from the south. Go under the rail line and run." When Dragonbreath just stares angrily at her underling, Rhys kicks his legs into the old metal barrel nearby, letting out a loud bang. " _GO!"_

"Fuck you, Atlas," Dragonbreath growls, but shoves him bodily aside to open the train car behind his back. It's the wrong side, and the drop outside is steep.

Still, they go, barking orders to the other members of their troupe.

Rhys struggles and turns his body until his heel can catch on the open door. He shoves it, sliding it-- well, most of the way shut. Better than before.

He's just in time for the _other_ , proper side of the door to be pulled off its setting. A loader bot takes it right off the train, turning to toss the door carelessly aside.

When Handsome Jack steps up into the car, Rhys sighs. "The door was unlocked. You just broken a perfectly good train car."

"Hello to you too, princess," Jack says with a vicious grin. "Happy to see me?"

"No," Rhys says tartly. "Why are you here?" If he keeps Jack here with their weird… banter… thing, then the not-so-bad bandits might get away.

Jack saunters in, looking over the train compartment. "Heard that a well-heeled orange Atlas boy was up for grabs. Came running. Obviously."

"That was three hours ago," Rhys pointed out. "Not the fastest running I've ever seen."

"Whatever, maybe it was a brisk jog. Point is--" Jack comes right up to Rhys, and what would be _nice_ , what Rhys _expects_ , is that Jack is gonna cut off the tape holding him and let him up or something.

Instead, the asshole picks Rhys up, putting Rhys over his shoulder and holding him by the knees as he heaves him up. "Wow, you are like-- you're half metal, how the hell are you this light?"

"Shut up!" Rhys kicks his legs, or tries to. Jack holds them pretty firmly. So instead, he hits Jack with his bundled arms. "Put me down, what the fuck are you doing!"

Jack slaps his thighs hard. "Language, Atlas."

"I was fine! I was handling it! Put me down, Jack!"

"They're _bandits._ They were gonna blow your head off." He says it like he's imparting sacred wisdom to an acolyte. "And frankly, it'd be a waste of a pretty face. Now quit squirming."

Rhys slumps, gritting his teeth. Presumptuous ego-centric asshole. Rhys has a sinking feeling about the fact Jack's not just turning him loose. "Where are we going?"

"To Helios. Duh." Jack jumps down from the train car, and Rhys yelps, trying to brace himself. "Whoa. Copin' a feel there, Rhysie?"

"Please just put me down."

"Nah." Draped over him, Rhys can feel the way Jack chuckles. "We'll put you up in a nice cell, princess. Let your keepers know where they can come pick you up."

"Or you could let me go and I'll find my own way back to the Highlands? Don't put yourself out."

"And let you get yourself caught by these scavengers again? No no no." Jack tsks loudly. "Best I keep a close eye on you. Said I would, didn't I?"

God. Dammit. Rhys smacks Jack again, only to be ignored.


	2. Chapter 2

Obviously there is a micro-computer hidden in the watch Jack habitually wears, because no one in this day and age is stupid enough not to carry some kind of ECHO-enabled devices on their person at all times. Jack just keeps his subtle and hands-free.

It's been pinging and beeping at him for hours now. The local network that is built into the walls of the Atlas facility keeps helpfully reminding him that his shuttle back to Helios is waiting for him. That he's fueled up and ready to go. That drinks will be provided if only he goes to the damn launchpad and _leaves_ already.

Instead, Jack wanders around the less-classified areas of New Haven, watching through windows as the Atlas machine works. People in labcoats looking over eridium cutting. Server rooms being staffed by meticulous ECHO technicians. New security initiates going through training.

Rhys trailed him for a while after their meeting. He didn't seem happy to hang out with Jack for very long. As Jack's set departure time came and went, Rhys stormed off in what was pretty much a huff.

Leaving Jack with the nannybot.

"Hi." The re-branded jailbroke loader bot waves to him.

"No. Don't talk to me."

He kills time memorizing as much of the layout as he can, at least for the visitor-friendly areas. Eventually, the lunar cycle begins, and Jack goes back up to the management wing, the lofty capstone at the top of New Haven that Rhys called home. The gilded echelon at the highest point of the building, with its imported redwood floors and walls of tinted glass, looking out over the Highlands beyond.

Jack takes the stairs, leaving his robotic chaperone in the dust. By the time he makes it upstairs, it's truly dark out; even the shining skyward beacon of Helios is missing, blocked out by rainclouds. Ribbons of thick rain stream down the curved windows, warping the view in strange, dreamy ways.

Rhys isn't in his office; Jack finds him sitting on the skydeck with the lights dim, a red metal thermos in his hand as he looks outside.

"Is this what was so important, what you bailed on me for?" Jack asks indignantly as he walks over to the circular table. "Thought you had work to do."

"I did most of it," Rhys says quietly. "Taking a breather." He tips his head back to look up at Jack. "Seriously, though. Why are you still here? Is this still about the list? At this point, I might regret writing it. Didn't realize you'd get all hung up on it."

Jack pulls out the chair opposite Rhys and collapses into it, legs stretched out in front of him, his arm hooked lazily over the seat back. "Kinda…." He scratches at his chin, humming. "I mean, saying _I'm_ the one getting hung up is pretty rich, Rhysie. I'm not the one who made an official list of reasons not to have fun with someone I wanna get naked with."

Rhys tilts his head at Jack, his ECHOeye blinking off as he seems to really look at Jack. Having a multitasker like Rhys giving his undivided attention is bracing. "What?"

"Pretty simple. We're both super attractive. We're both in positions of power. We both need to let off a little steam. It's basic logic." He shrugs one shoulder. "You're the one complicating the whole matter, not me."

"I'm?" Rhys gawks at Jack, his prior composure just gone. There's a stealing flush across his face, which is gratifying to see. "What? No. You, _you're complicated_ , that's the point!"

"How am I complicated?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Princess, you know _exactly_ where you stand with me. What's the hold up?"

Rather than replying like a grown ass adult, Rhys stands up and walks over to face the glass walls. His hands flex and curl, tense and irritable like he wants to strangle someone as he frowns out at the Highlands and the rain.

Jack reaches out and grabs Rhys' thermos, dragging it over and taking a drink from it. Coffee with some sort of weird sweetness. He licks his lips, thinking about it… Drakefruit sugar? It's strangely fruity.

He's gonna wait this one out. Might lead to something fun.

  
  
  
  


When Jack gets the intelligence report that the Atlas Planet Lead has gotten nabbed by bandits, the first thing he does is play back the ransom message and laughs himself hoarse. How the hell did Atlas already lose the new guy? Did he wander off and get grabbed? He was like a fresh printed dollar on the wind, just begging to be snatched up.

Which, wasn't that an idea. After cogitating on that one, Jack sent a message back to intel demanding a triangulation of the signal and a moonshot solution to the area.

The problem with Rhys Sommerset was, ever since he'd dredged the long-legged peon out of the ice ocean years ago, Jack got the impression that, sure, Rhys knew how damn impressive Handsome Jack was. But the way he looked at Jack, like he _knew_ Jack somehow, got under his skin. Especially since that little trick to usurp his old boss.

Keeping an eye on Rhys helped with the itch under Jack's skin. And now, it came with a golden opportunity to screw with the man a bit.

So Jack makes the trip down to Pandora, just for his good pal Rhysie, and gets a tremendous amount of joy from the state he finds Rhys in.

Carrying him bodily back to Helios is its own reward, though once Jack manages to get Rhys on the shuttle, something in his Atlas buddy snaps. Those legs manage to get Jack right in a kidney, and Jack buckles, down to the steel flooring of the return shuttle.

There's a kit of needles on the shuttle, and it's nighty-night for Rhysie after that little stunt. He's pretty much the most ungrateful rescue Jack's ever seen.

Back home on Helios, Jack has Rhys put into one of the executive holding cells, not that the little prick deserves anything but the brig. Still he cuts Rhys loose and leaves him curled asleep on his side on the bed.

He looks a lot less… irritating and confusing when he's asleep, like all the long stares and odd calculation have just gone out of him. He's barely recognizable without the furrow in his brow.

He also drools a bit, hilariously.

Jack leaves him there and gets back to his usual rounds. Of course, _of course_ , he's going to inform Atlas that he's harboring one of their directors. That's definitely on his list of things to do.

But there's also new shield prototypes to look at, and he's been meaning to clean up some of the code on his personal messaging program for weeks, and then it's dinnertime. Can't skip dinner when it's imported sirloin burger with black garlic mayo, all the way from the Edens. Chow time.

As he's washing that down with a soda and picking out a holovid to unwind with, the ECHO comm on his desk beeps.

He jabs it with a finger. "Yeah?"

"Handsome Jack, sir," his secretary says calmly. "The… visiting Atlas attache is awake. And has been adamantly requesting your presence."

 _Finally._ Without a word, Jack stabs the comm back off and picks up his soda, strolling over to the fast travel station.

When he reaches the correct floor and the right hallway, Jack slows his gait. The last thing he wants to do is give the sense he's in a rush or something. Instead, he strolls up to the appropriate cell; it's a metal door and a wall of tinted glass. For the moment, the glass is clouded, meant to give the occupant the illusion of privacy.

Despite the fogged glass, there is a rapidly pacing shape visible through the obfuscated light.

Jack grins and raps his knuckles on the glass, watching the blurry figure startle and go still.

Between the glass and the door is a control panel. Tapping it, Jack clears the window and activates the communicator. "Hey there, Atlas. How ya doin'?"

Through the clear glass, Rhys looks wide-eyed in an animal way. It's completely unique from his usual expression, all done up like a too-tight necktie. He steps up to the window and puts his hands on it, glaring at Jack through the glass. "Hyperion. Let me out."

"Not yet," Jack says, grinning at the furious look on Rhys' pretty face. "Temper, princess."

He gets to watch as Rhys visibly tries to compose himself, and lose more and more of his calm with each deep breath he takes. "This is abduction. You've abducted me."

"Yeah? And what do the Atlas bylaws say about that one?" Jack puts a hand on the window over Rhys' metal hand, tapping with a nail.

Rhys, bless his angry kitten snit fit, reels his metal arm back and punches the glass with a closed fist.

A hairline fracture cracks at the impact point, and the whole window fizzles as the circuitry in it snaps.

At the same moment, Rhys yelps and grabs his shoulder with his flesh hand, teeth clenched in pain. "Ssssssshit why did I do that, oh my god."

"No shock absorbers in that arm, huh?" Jack asks patiently as Rhys hops around, whimpering.

It takes a moment for him to subside. He keeps holding his arm as he leans his forehead against the window, face pinched with pain. "What do you want, Jack, seriously."

"Seriously? Honestly? The god's honest? To mess with you, kid. For someone stuck on that skag-infested rock, you're always all…" He waves at Rhys' everything. "Like this."

"Okay. So?" He gives Jack an incredulous look.

"It's not difficult, Rhysie. Haven't you ever seen something pristine and perfect and just…" He taps his fingers against the cracks in the glass. "Wanted to mess it up a bit?"

The wincing tapers off as Rhys leans away from the window and quietly stares at Jack. His brow is furrowed again; it seems permanently stuck that way, as if the universe itself was getting on Rhys' nerves. But his brown and amber eyes soften as he continues to stand there and, what, maybe think over what Jack said? Every word out of Jack's mouth is heavy with wisdom, but this time he's apparently tripped Rhys up.

Eventually, Rhys looks down at his metal palm, touching the articulated pieces like testing them. "I… yeah. But I don't…." He grimaces, shaking his head. "I don't."

"You know," Jack says mildly, "I kind of got that feeling. That's a shame, Rhysie." Patting the window, Jack backs off. "I'll send your overlords word you're here and they should send someone to pick you up. Try not to break anything else while you're here." He pauses, and smirks. "Or, hell, go ahead. Might be good for you."

For that, Rhys just stares at Jack as he leaves. But it's not the forced cool gaze Jack's seen fixed on Rhys' face like a mask. It's something new. Or, newish since Jack always suspected it was there right under the surface, lurking.

He kinda wants to see where it goes. Might lead to something fun.

  
  
  
  


Rhys cannot make Jack get out of his facility.

There is a headache forming behind his brown eye, right behind his brow. He takes his drinks cold and keeps the cool glass against the ache while he handles things. Namely, putting Jack in the nicest, more well-monitored guest suite they have on location.

Then, Rhys sleeps, leaving Elbie at his bedside to field any potential interruptions. Just in case.

Jack grants him the incredibly generous gift of some solitude through the night. That, or Elbie stalwartly guards Rhys from his prying. Either one works for Rhys, who takes his breakfast in peace in his quarters.

"I don't suppose our visitor finally caught a hint and returned to Helios in the night," Rhys asks as he spreads jam over his toast.

"He has not," Elbie informs Rhys. "Should I arrange a meeting?"

He decides slowly through the rest of his meal. "No. I have that morning fitting still. I'll do that."

Elbie swivels his hips, following Rhys as he dresses. "Is that wise?"

"What'd I say? There's no wise way to handle Jack." Rhys pulls his sweater on, forgoing the extra accoutrements. As much as he enjoys the jacket with the glowing accents, they'd only get in the way. "So, I might as well just enjoy it. Make him suffer."

"Is there no way I can dam your tide of terrible choices?"

"Dial down the dramatics 35 per cent." He pats Elbie's chest.

"Adjusting," Elbie reports dutifully, and follows Rhys with noisy locomotion as he leaves to start his day.

After a brief check in with the heads of staff in the Haven facility, Rhys hurries his way to the atrium at the middle of the complex. There's a small greenhouse back here, more geared towards vanity than sourcing food. There is a wide variety of Pandoran flora around, as well as imports from other planets. It's become something of a tradition, for the Board to present Rhys with new potted plants every time he makes the trip offworld to give a report.

The message is clear to him, and it's one he enjoys. Everything he touches on Pandora flourishes. It's a rare talent he's fostering.

Standing under the arched trellises of Promethean sunspot ivy, Rhys meets with Fiona, who has secured whole wardrobe boxes full of samples for him.

He rubs his hands together with that particular excitement that only comes from sartorial adventures. "Ooh, yes, come to daddy," Rhys says, grinning as Fiona starts unlatching a trunk.

She straightens, a full sneer contorting her face. "Uh uh, no. You ever say that again, we're through."

"You are no fun." Rhys pouts, but subsides, keeping a clamp on his anticipation. "I'm just showing my appreciation for your acquisitions."

Sasha, Fiona's sister and compatriot in the oddjobs Rhys sends her on, narrows her eyes severely. "Well, keep it to yourself. That's way too much appreciation for, what? Some Pandoran drag?"

That's really not it at all, but Rhys isn't really interested in explaining it to Sasha again. "Your words, not mine."

"Yep. Mine." Sasha crosses her arms and continues to stand over Fiona as she unloads their wares.

There is a look of keen concentration on Fiona's face as she slides things around and drapes things over her arm. "I hope you appreciate how difficult it is to outfit a scarecrow like you. Just finding shit to fit your measurements was a pain."

"Unless you're willing to wear a skirt," Sasha chimes in, sunny as a starburst.

"Not really the look I'm aiming for this time," Rhys demurs. As Fiona begins to step away, nodding silently to herself, he grabs the hem of his sweater and pulls it up, over his head.

"Warn a girl," Sasha says.

"Oh, please," Fiona mutters. She hands Rhys a shirt the color of a stinging cactus that sits almost double-breasted, fixed in place by heavy metal pins. Over that, he accepts and shrugs on a coat with an asymmetrical, long tail-- a bit similar to the cut of her own jacket, actually. The material is some sort of animal skin, maybe some weird Pandoran marine life given the smoothness and the dark hue.

"Need to remove the sleeve," Rhys mutters. "Or, maybe not? Is the arm intimidating?"

Fiona tugs at the jacket, pulling it to fit. "Eh. Man with a silver right hand. Feels foreboding. Dunno if letting people see the whole arm will make things that much worse."

"And intimidating is good." Sasha tilts her head, looking over Rhys with a light gaze. "Kind of dark."

"Yeah, not much different from his usual getup," Fiona agrees. "Take that off."

"Hey, aren't I the shopper here?" He's a little reluctant to let go of the cool weirdskin jacket.

"You want to look Pandoran, that's the service we're offering here." She opens another trunk to rifle through.

Sighing, Rhys takes off the first outfit, laying it over the table as he waits for the next selection.

The only warning is Elbie turning on his waist joint, but it’s enough to keep Rhys from jumping out of his skin as someone lets out a wolf whistle. "What have I walked in on here? Rhysie, you know you should keep your weird foursomes to the orgy rooms."

Jack. With a sigh, Rhys folds his arms and turns to level a stare at Jack. "We don't have orgy rooms in this facility, Jack."

Sasha snorts. "Wow. Specific."

"I can't help but notice you're still here," Rhys goes on, tapping his metal fingers against his arm.

"Couldn't miss the gun show!" Jack strides in. Compared to everyone else in the room, he looks almost _homey_ , dressed in a H-branded longsleeve and some jeans. And Rhys thought _he'd_ been dressing down a bit. He doesn't like how comfortable Jack looks.

Jack taps the back of his hand against Rhys' metal bicep. "Though, not exactly packin' high caliber heat under all the finery, are you, Atlas?"

With clear direction, Rhys turns back to Fiona. "Okay, what's next, the silver blue? I'm kind of an autumn."

Fiona is in the midst of ignoring Jack with all of her might. "Yeah, and Pandora's been in a slow thaw winter for decades. Besides, you want to go anywhere outside the Southern Shelf in all black, you'll roast. Out in the Dust, you'll be sweating blood."

"Gross image, thanks for that," Rhys says, accepting the shirt and pulling it on. It catches on his cybernetics, and Fiona sweeps in, ever the professional, to assist.

Behind him, Jack audibly sits in a chair at the table with all his weight and begins noisily eating a drakefruit from the bowl. With his back safely turned, Rhys meets Fiona's eyes and gives her an apologetic grimace.

Her face remains a cool slate, until she moves out of Jack's line of sight as well and shakes her head.

"These need cufflinks," Rhys points out, pinching one of the sleeves.

"Too fancy. Unless you got the kind that look like bullets."

"Ugh. Tacky."

"So," Jack says loudly.

Rhys shuts his eyes. "Oh my god."

"What's with…. with this? Are you going undercover as a bandit, Rhysie?" He's talking with his mouth full and it's wet and terrible, and Rhys refuses to give him the satisfaction of turning around to glare at him. Instead, he focuses on the muted grey coat with green stitching. It's….. nice. For someone else.

"Stop sulking," Fiona tells him quietly.

"Aw, is princess pouting over not looking all-- all regal and seriously, what're you doing?"

"Image management," Rhys tells him curtly. He really should wait Jack out, starve him of any reactions until he gets bored enough to leave, but.

God, the man gets his hackles raising every time.

"Bandit image?" Jack asks, mockingly innocuous.

"Native Pandoran, and don't--" Shit, he's turned, now Jack is grinning as Rhys stares down at him. "Don't you have a space station to run? Somewhere about three-point-seven million kilometers away from here?"

Jack takes a big juicy bite of fruit and lets out a muffled laugh. "Mmhm! You know the orbital distance of Helios just off the top of that pretty head of yours, huh?"

"Of course I know the first Lagrangian point, it's not a parlor trick, Jack." Rhys narrows his eyes. "Go home."

"Pretty crappy hospitality, Atlas." He licks his fingers clean, pulling the last out of his mouth with an audible _pop_. "We're not done talking."

Not this again. "I'm busy. Very full schedule."

"Hey, that's fine, and you know what? We can multitask. I know you're good at that, buttercup. I got a copy of the list right here--"

Rhys can't keep himself from strangling the air in front of him, letting out a tense breath. _"Jack."_ His voice is jumping octaves, and now the sisters are watching him with plainfaced amusement. God. Damn. It.

"Rhysie?"

Plastering on a smile, Rhys glares murder into Jack's guileless expression. Asshole. Such an asshole. "Let me finish up here. I'll talk to you upstairs when I'm done."

Finally, Jack stands, a deeply satisfied curl to his words as he says, "Sure thing. See you after you're done playing Bandit Barbie." He leans in, close enough that Fiona stiffens, clearly fighting the urge to back away from him. "You kids have fun."

He punctuates that remark with an audible smack on Rhys' ass. With a yelp, Rhys jumps away, face flushing sharply.

He wants to flay Jack for that, but apparently the smug son of a bitch knows discretion, and quickly leaves the room, smoothly sidestepping Elbie and out the door.

He is going to kill him. Yep. Rhys isn't inclined to truly violent solutions to problems, but damn if Handsome Jack isn't convincing.

"What," Sasha says, exaggeratedly slow, "was that?"

Rhys drags his hands over his face and indulges in a moment of dismay, groaning loudly. "I'll have to handle that later." After rubbing his eyes, he returns his attention to Fiona. "Let's… continue. Please."

"Uh huh," Fiona says, her tone flat and bored, as if she wasn't completely into bystanding that terrible, awful confrontation. "Right. So, pants off."

Rhys moves to undress. If Jack left a mark, he isn't sure if the man will get to leave the Atlas facility alive.

  
  
  
  


The fitting does not go on nearly long enough. There is a heady cocktail of dread and anger and a low curl of anticipation in Rhys' gut as he finally pays the sisters. It dogs his steps as he charts a path back up to his office.

What he wants is to go and take a circuit around the labs to check in on everyone, but the knowledge that Jack is in his office is like a stiletto dragging down the column of his spine. He can't ignore it, and tension strings tighter in his gut.

"This is highly likely to go bad," Elbie intones as his joints work overtime to keep up with Rhys' long legs.

"Yeah. Do me a favor, and keep to yourself unless real and present danger happens? No peanut gallery."

"As you wish," Elbie says, imbuing three words with all the force of a tirade on Rhys' foolishness.

As if Rhys isn't already aware, christ.

The double doors are on old-fashioned hinges, mostly because Rhys likes the effect more than sliding hatches. It makes him feel good to swing both doors sharply open, not even breaking stride. There is a short hallway leading into his office proper, opening like a bottleneck into the body.

Exactly like a bottleneck, actually; there are plenty of good angles from the office to fire down the hall, in case of attack.

But his desk is front and center ahead, and Handsome fucking Jack is sitting in _Rhys' chair_ and has his _feet_ up on Rhys' desk.

"Geez, princess, I was about to send out a search party, you were taking so long with your bandit buds," Jack says in a jovial tone, making no movement from Rhys' seat. "Wouldn't be the first time I needed to rescue you, now would it? Could be a fun habit, if you wanted--"

While he's going on, circling his point with all the haste of a slow drain, Rhys walks around the desk, grabs the top of his chair, plants his boot on bottom of the frame, and shoves it over until Jack spills out of it and onto the floor behind the desk.

 _"Fuck!"_ Jack shouts like a whip-crack.

 _"Language,_ Hyperion." He straightens the chair, pulling it away from when Jack is already climbing off the floor. In a hurry, Rhys throws himself into his chair and grasps the arms with both hands.

He's just in time for Jack to haul himself up and two-step into Rhys' space. Pushing off the floor, Rhys tries to back up, but predictably Jack seizes the chair in a brutal grip.

Rhys lifts his foot and plants it on Jack's groin, applying enough pressure that everything stops. Sweat beads at Rhys' temples. He tips his head back to meet Jack's furious stare as Jack continues to bend over him, holding the seatback in a fist.

"Um," Elbie says from his sentry position at the door.

"We're fine, Elbie," Rhys says, keeping his eyes firmly on Jack. "This is totally under control."

"Yeah, jailbreak, the adults are having a conversation," Jack adds, similarly frozen as he glares down at Rhys. "You can be a vicious little shit, Rhysie."

"And you can be a presumptuous jackass." Slowly, Rhys pushes with his foot; Jack lets go off the chair and backs up rather than enduring some damage down there. "Sit down."

Holding up his hands in a bullshit peaceful gesture, Jack settles on the edge of Rhys' desk. Still too close.

Rhys drops his leg back and indulges in covering his eyes in blatant annoyance. "Okay. What'll it take to get you off my planet, seriously?"

"Tch, _your_ planet? Please."

"Yeah, my planet. Who else's?"

"Uuuuh, mine? Obviously? Right of conquest, sweetcheeks, I got targeting solutions for the entire habitable area."

Rhys crosses his arms. It probably makes him look petulant but given the rest of their standoff, who cares? "Sure, but what about the rest of it? You don't have the feet on the ground. You don't build here. In fact, you'd rather build an artificial island off the coast and build _there_ than take on Pandora properly. Conquest is cheap--"

Jack's mouth twists into something like a smirk. "Not really. You know what a moonshot bombardment costs?"

"And unlike you, I actually _live here_." Rhys sighs, resting his head back against the chair. "Jack."

"Rhys," he parrots back, beginning to look weirdly delighted. "Finally getting a little physical, huh?"

A snort of laughter startles out of Rhys, and he shakes his head. "You have, like, some kind of one track mind."

Jack puts his foot on the seat, between Rhys' legs. "Still on the same track, baby. Pretty sure we both are."

"Why," Rhys asks. "Why is this so important to you? Don't you build an image of yourself as some oversexed interstellar playboy?"

He waves a hand through the air. "God, no. No one likes the guy who is knee deep in ass all the time. Kinda skeevy. Now, the guy who can _get_ ass whenever he wants? Totally different, important distinction."

"Oh, well, my mistake," Rhys drawls.

"You ix-nay conquest, but that's what you laid out here. You didn't just say 'no, not interested'-- and how could you? Look at us. Clearly your want a piece of this." Jack ignores Rhys rolling his eyes as he went on. "No, you set terms. You took the time to outline the parameters of this little challenge. That's practically an engraved invitation."

Crossing one leg over his knee, Rhys knocks Jack's foot away, still staring at him. "I told you that you were hung up on this."

"Says the guy who wrote the list! We've been over this!" Jack presses his fingers to his wristcomp, and it projects a green-blue tinted copy of the dreaded fucking list. "Most of these are bullshit anyway!" He sticks out his thumb. "Didn't try to kill you, you're being dramatic-- as usual." He sticks out his index finger. "If I'm _violent_ , you sure as hell don't mind, you underhanded twerp." Middle finger. "Our goals are fine, and even if they weren't, who cares, it's just sex."

"Four is pretty impenetrable," Rhys notes dryly.

"Shooting me down because your prissy opinions of my clothes is-- who cares! Hell, wouldn't you be motivated to get me naked! I thought you weren't a complete idiot, Rhysie."

Rolling his eyes, Rhys waits.

"Five, this one is rich. Sleeping with me is _counter to your career aspirations."_ Jack lets out a low, disbelieving _pfft_.

"If someone in Atlas finds out I'm sleeping with the President of Hyperion, that's it! I'm done. I'll be demoted if I'm lucky and throw out into the wastes otherwise."

"Are you that bad at keeping a pretty basic secret?" Jack asks.

"I'm not the one to worry about here!"

"Like I'm gonna tell."

"Well, that's the real point of it all, isn't it?" Now, it's Jack's turn to wait expectantly. "Jack." Rhys sighs again, shaking his head. "Let's, ah… talk hypotheticals. Let's say I was interested in sleeping with you and the opportunity arose and I was willing to take the… logistical risk there."

"Hypothetical. Sure." His voice drips with sarcasm.

"It doesn't matter," Rhys explains, as if he were explaining a complicated new initiative to a particularly dim member of the Board. "Outside of business, outside of signed, official contracts, I can't trust you." He shrugs. "Them's the breaks."

Something about that makes Jack's face freeze. His eyes are still on Rhys, but his mind suddenly seems very far away. "Huh. That so."

"Yeah." Rhys nods. "Consider that item six on the list if you want."

Jack is utterly still for several seconds, and Rhys can practically see some internal engine revving up. Hopefully that's a sign of understanding, not… even more trouble.

Slapping his own thigh, Jack stands, hopping off Rhys' desk. "My record with your list is pretty good, princess."

"Yeah, but--"

"Nah, you've taken up enough of my time," Jack goes on, talking over Rhys. "Shuttle's still ready, right?"

"What?" He's leaving? A little sudden, but honestly he'll take it. The tension is the room is killing him. Rhys gestures vaguely in the direction of the long long overdue shuttle. "Oh, sure, it's been on standby. Is-- is that it?"

"Yup," Jack says, popping the consonant like bubble gum. "This has been _fun_. We gotta do this again."

"Please, god, no," Rhys moans, but breathes out deeply as Jack gives him some space at last. "Stay off my planet."

"Not yours!" Jack says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I'll see you soon, Rhysie. Else I'll come rescue you again."

"Stop calling it a rescue!" Rhys calls after him. Then, before he can get ahold of himself and what a complete dork he can be under it all, "Bye!"

Jack looks over his shoulder and grins. "Bye-bye, Atlas."

It's stupid, and Rhys flushes, pissed at himself for the lack of decorum, but the doors swing shut after Jack, and he's _gone,_ hallelujah. Now Rhys can get back to work.

First, he'll have a stiff drink from the sideboard. Then, back to work.

  
  
  
  


This is Jack's favorite part of problems.

And make no mistake: Rhys is a _problem._ Might even be a Problem. He's getting close to that distinction at this point in their relationship.

But this is the great part: Jack is a problem solver. Hell, he's a programmer. That's the entire gig. He knows seven languages of repair and substantiation and potential. This is, frankly, what he excels the most at. That, and jawlines.

Up until now, Jack just didn't understand the problem. Troubleshooting when you don't actually know what's faulty is a haphazard, thankless slog of trial and error.

Now, though, Jack knows what he's dealing with.

Rhys can't trust Jack without a binding contract.

Well, damn. Why didn't he say so before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like an inch away from being a blackrom thing
> 
> OH HEY since the last chapter, Tumblr did a Fucking Dumb, so here's some deets. You can find me on Tumblr as @callmearcturus, obviously. But you can also follow me on Pillowfort as [Arcturus](http://pillowfort.io/Arcturus), Twitter as [@callmearcturus](http://twitter.com/callmearcturus), Dreamwidth as [callmearcturus](https://callmearcturus.dreamwidth.org/profile). My primary non-tumblr platform is def PF, but I know Twitter is easy and everyone can use it to keep track of each other easily.


End file.
